There was a lot going on and many people walking about. Had noticed from the corner of her eye an older, more established looking woman that seemed on a mission. Surprisingly enough, she stopped to give her a greeting of sorts.

"House trained? Oh, yes. Mack told me to just p-ss anywhere I want to in your room. She said you liked surprises.. and p-ss."

[shocked.] Really? Since you were children?[turns on her side, rests head on an outstretched arm.] I don't have any childhood friends, except Dresden. But he's on a trip or something for work.[bright smile.] Really?! Can we be friends? I don't have many friends.

Sweet and delicate this one may appear to be... however, appearances are often deceiving. This proves the truth when she all but demands his hand and begins writing with more pressure than necessary. To up the ante, or perhaps because he's a glutton for punishment, he pushes his hand up into the pressure. Either way, a subtle message is sent.

~fights the urge to lean away~
~raises chin indignantly~
~honestly unsure if this is really happening, or if it's a product of withdrawal~
I'm fine on my own, but thanks for the concern.
~turns on her heel~
~cradles head in her hand as she's walking away~

Atticus can only smile at the sight of her, grinning even harder when she is safely tucked against him. Despite all of the sh!t he manages to get himself into, he has Camille's presence to ground him. Both her, and a now blissfully sleeping newborn. Who, like Camille, he loves even when she's screaming for no plausible reason.

"All for you, Cam-Cam. I figured I'd just take the li'l one off your hands for a few hours. Let you reconfigure." He pulls back then, collecting the bags of groceries and dutifully beginning to store them away properly. "I'm just so damned proud of you. That, and an equal mixture of terror. I have no idea how you managed it physically... There's definitely some images I'll never shake. But I'm in awe of you."

Truthfully, Atticus understands why men like his father had stood aside in a waiting room while their wives delivered. Some things just cannot be unseen. But Atticus wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world, nor would he have been willing to shirk his responsibility of being by her side throughout. Yet he feels immensely guilty for all she's endured. So, naturally, he googled the perfect solution.

"Anyways, sugar. I ordered you a real diamond-studded tiara. The internet called it a 'push present'. They said it had to be opulent and unreasonably expensive. I thought since the house'll still be about another month... you deserved something more immediate for gratification." He flashes a cheesy grin, ready to offer over a hastily retrieved black velet box. "Every queen needs a crown, after all... figured you might appreciate the thought."

Without answering the text, Atticus goes about his errands, grabbing the necessary odds and ends he had stepped out for - and then about a pound of chocolate. When he reenters their little nook in London, he is well equipped to quell all stirs of emotions he had sensed from her text. "Your body isn't broken. Just catastrophically... beautiful." He offers a hesitant smile, arms outstretched to collect his wife in a hug. "I got about twelve different flavors of Ben & Jerry's, and a bag of those egg shaped Reese's. Now we can snuggle alllll you'd like, sugar."

If nothing else, Atticus knows he can provide the emotional support she needs, and when that fails, he'll simply ply her with sweets until she goes into a sugar coma. "How does that sound?"

-panics-
-immediately becomes very southern-
"Well now, darlin'. That ain't nothin' I can fix."
-coaxing shoulder massage-
"I'll fix up the kitchen and go to the grocery store, but why don't I treat you to a nice IHOP date? Mm? Doesn't that sound nice? Anything you want, sugar."
-definitely sweating-

"Can't go to Cait like this." He replied gruffly, a hand rubbing against the scruff of his chin. "She's so..." He genuflects, the adjective he intended to use left for Camille to interpret however she wished. His hands then swiped at the tears that had fallen, and his bloodshot eyes then turned upon the angel. "Have you ever loved someone, despite their nature?"

He leaned over, hands joined together and fidgeting with each other as he processed his many emotions. "I loved my sister, too much I think. I ignored all of the signs, maybe for neglect or perhaps because I wanted to ignore them.." He cleared his throat, the rising tide of emotions evident as his tone cracked. "She wasn't a good person, Jane. Foul, tempestuous as the sea.. But she had always been mine. I was meant to protect her, always."

Another shallow sigh, and he reached for the spilled bottle only to find it disappointingly empty. "You remind me so much of her, you know." And it was true, the resemblance was truly uncanny. "But you would have hated her." And then he laughed, even it was hollow.

Lloyd was hurting. Not in any way he'd show, but a deep grief and turmoil churned in his heart. And for whatever reason, he'd sought comfort in an uncanny companion. "Camille?" His intonation is slurred by the effects of the Macallan gripped tightly in his fist, the dwindling reserves sloshing around at the bottom of the bottle. He fidgeted with the door handle for a bit, eventually pushing it open and stumbling into the doorway.

Not finding her man-child husband in sight, he continues in. It's evident he's been on the bender for a few days now, sweat wreaking of whiskey. His skin is clammy and sweaty, the suit he wore clearly ruined. Black rings circled lifeless green eyes. "Camille??" He grunted her name a second time, afterwards plopping down in a beaten leather chair. The bottle of Macallan drops to the floor, the liquid spilling out onto the carpet beneath it.

And then the silent tears came, as he sat in wait of his friend's response.

"Have I ever failed to show my pride and appreciation?" He knits his brow together, scrutinizing her as his lips spread in an adoring grin. "You and this bean of ours are the only thing I ever talk about. Ask anyone." It's true, and he's sure she knows it. He might have seemingly more perilous and enthralling tales to spin, but his grandest adventure, in his mind, will always be the family they're to embark on.

"I don't just buy anybody chocolate, now. Don't get it twisted, girl." He swoops in for another kiss, eyes crinkling in amusement before he shoots her a wink. "I don't know anybody who has as much to come home to as I do." And, unable to help himself, he embarks on another well-aimed joke. "I mean, in terms of width, I think you've got everyone beat, honey..." He immediately flinches, prepared for a smack.

"I'll make it up to you, alright? You can set Zombiecus loose anywhere you please. How's that sound?"

As bashful as he can be, Atticus's cheeks fill with crimson color at her honest observation. "Shoulda seen the other guys, though." With the flash of another adoring smile, he nuzzles his stubble cheek against the smoothness of her own. "I could go for a nap." He's never one to express any grievances of pain nor exhaustion, do to admit it has been at least 48 hours since his head has hit a pillow is unlikely.

"And how are you?" Instinctive hands drift to her midsection before they slide around to cradle her by her waist. "I feel like I look away for a second and you're ten inches wider." He snickers, a teasing lilt to his southern twang.

Atticus spends quite a bit of time out, getting into all sorts of predicaments, but always returning with some sort of grotesque souvenir only Camille could appreciate. Following a particularly brutal tête-à-tête with an ancient cult of cannibalistic necromancers, he's slightly worse for wear than usual. However, he has no returned home empty handed.

"Camille, you're never going to believe what happened..." He rambles on about witnessing the cult cannibalize a woman who willingly sacrificed herself, having gone so far as to drink her blood in a silver chalice. "But in the end, they weren't even the real deal! Just a bunch of psychos. And when they realized I didn't belong..." Many more wild hand gestures follow as he literally reenacts the physical altercation (from both perspectives, WITH sound effects). Finally, he stops, catching sight of his wife as he enters their space further. "Hey, chick."

He wanders over, gray eyes lighting up just from her presence. "I brought you all of their toes. Oh! And chocolate." He flashes that lopsided smile of his before leaning in to place a peck on her lips. "You look beautiful."

"Michael?" he blurts, near venomous in his tone. "I don't give a flying f*ck about Michael. Michael can f*cking rot for all I care. I wiped my hands of him long ago."

And that was it, he decided. He was done with her, done with the conversation, done with the moment. So he simply turned his back to her and walked off.

But he only managed ten feet or so before he was turning to talk back toward her, determination in every step as he raised a finger to point toward her face, the tip mere millimetres from her nose.

"Gabriel started this, he put the wheels in motion. But it was Him, that f*cking *******, that...that...our f*cking 'Lord' who tore my wings from me and sent me down here. My f*cking father. The creator who brought me into existence allowed himself to be manipulated when all I wanted to do was save the likes of YOU." The last word spat from his mouth, his pointed finger stiff, thrust once more in her direction. And in that moment, his anger for everything he'd done, and for the injustice of it all, had taken the form of a slight blonde stood before him.

A few warm tears rolled down his face, but unaccustomed to them, he completely ignored their presence, unaware of how they ran tracks across his skin. He wouldn't notice till later, when his eyes began to sting and his fingertips felt wet to the touch of his cheeks. They were tears of anger, of frustration, and they didn't cause his breathing to jut, nor his chest to ache. They simply existed.

"I'm here because I tried to make a difference. And now the only difference is that I'm banished and the ones I actually cared about are suffering and I can't do a damn f*cking thing to help him -
them. Help them...I can't help them. You don't get it, you'll never understand." he continues, his tone dropping, softening in defeat. "I just wanted to fix it. For the first time, I wanted to actually make a difference not because these f*cking mortal f*cks prayed for it but because I saw something wrong and wanted to fix it. And now...I'm f*cking...here."

"Of course I know who you f*cking are!" he replies, the laugher back, the smile broad across his face once more. He's given in to the irony of the moment, to the fact that, of all the people he would meet on earth, she was here."

"You haven't asked why an Arch obviously banished to earth. Not once. Why Gabriel, one of my own, would have me sent down here. F*cking...ugh...f*cking...f*cking..."

Nate waved his hands in the air, searching for words. But the words didn't seem to exist. Not one.

The Archangel Nathaniel. The one they all prayed to for success, for the inspiration and momentum to succeed. Mortals never understood his purpose. They used him over and over again until one day he just turned off, just stopped listening, and instead decided to focus his attention and time on what he wanted to do, what he needed to do.

Like stupidly fix the inconsistent, bullsh!t nature of his fellow Archangels.

He should have just stuck to bowing to the pathetic pleading of skin bags and not tried to help his own. The one time he tried to make a true change.

And now Sandalphon was all but dead, the war was worse than ever before and here he was with a f*cking fallen Guardian.

Finally he shrugged, gave in and tugged at the denim at his thigh, feeling the weight of the material pull at the belt about his waist." **** it, you're right...us Archangels and our God complexes. Exactly."

Realisation dawns so hard on Nate's face that his jaw literally drops. He watches her, silent, for far too long before finally bringing his lips back together again. They're dry and he makes the effort to wet them with his tongue before speaking. "You're a Guardian?" he manages to say, though the works mumble from his lips, caught in his throat. "You are a F*CKING GUARDIAN!" he repeats, this time laughing as he does so.
He presses his palm to his forehead and 'wooooos' as he spins on his heel in a full circle.

"I fall all the way to earth and the first angel I meet is a f*cking Guardian. OF COURSE!" He looks up to the clouds once more and claps his hands, calling to the sky. "F*CK YOU TOO!" he calls to the Heavens. And as he drops his head, balling his hands up before his chest, he repeats the words, albeit with less power, less anger than before.

Nate laughs. In his oversized clothing stolen from the wrong person in the wrong place, he looks pathetic AF. But his face is alive with a thickening plot and the realisation that she's exactly what he expected her to be.

A p!ssed off angel, fallen from grace.

"Yeah, yeah. Good luck. But before you f*ck off and leave me WHICH, by the way, I think is an absurd idea, just tell me...how'd you piss him off? Gabriel. What the f*ck did you do to end up down here?"

Nate stares almost blankly at her. Busy processing her words, he's also still so overcome by the banishment that he's struggling to keep his thoughts in order.

"I liked it up there." he finally murmurs before taking a heavy breath and puffing his chest. He lets the air out slowly, forcing back a smile.

"Just because I'm forced to be on this sh!t tip of a planet doesn't mean I have to like it. Maybe you've found peace as what you are but it doesn't mean I have to be. I'm a f*cking Archangel. I matter. Mortals on this earth worship my kind. I just need to figure out how to take advantage of it."

"They're never going to let me back." he mutters, sucking at his fingertips before looking back up at her.

Whatever jokey attitude had previously occupied his personality was now gone, replaced with something far more pathetic and blue. "This wasn't a 'go and learn to be better' type of deal. This was a 'we've had enough of you, get out' banishment. But I don't know how to be anything other than an Arch. And this body is making me feel sooooo goddamn pointless."

As she shakes him, Nate managed to bite his tongue, bringing an end to his verbal panic. The taste of blood is foreign, as is the tongue itself, and he stops, sticking it out to dab red spots upon the tips of his fingers.

"I don't know how you cope..." he mumbles, his attention drawn to the saliva-mixed blood as it beads down his index finger, forking off at his knuckle to dribble down his hand.

"See! Exactly. They're so f*cking hideous with their skin and flesh and blood and..." he shudders, clearly repulsed. "...and thei, my f*cking god, doesn't this heartbeat just get on your nerves? Thump, thump, thump, all the livelong day. I've only been here for the morning and it's already more than I can bear. I can't take it. How the hell are you coping?"

Nate starts to feel anxious, a new sensation that he's never felt before. In fact, he doesn't even know what anxiousness feels like to know that's what he's feeling. But he can feel his skin crawl and sweat, and a lump begin to form in his throat.

He looks at her and for the first time, his eyes show some sort of sadness. He's never known sadness in his life yet the body he now inhabits seems more than capable of portraying the emotion nevertheless.

"I just want to go home. I'm not made for this. But they won't let me back. I've been asking all morning and no one is listening to me. I F*CKING HATE THIS F*CKING PIECE OF SH!T PLACE!"

“F*ck it. I knew he’d be a d!ck. That f*cking b*stard.” Nate frowns, ruffling his hair with frustration, pulling at a bunch of strands in an awkward attempt to look at them. “I didn’t steal it from anyone. They didn’t give me a f*cking choice. Unlike the rest of you, I just…boom…on this godforsaken rock in this f*cking body. Tell me…it’s hideous, isn’t it? I’m in a f*cking child’s body. Yours is fine. Did you get to pick yours at least? Well…you know what I mean by ‘pick’.”

There we go. She's lightening up finally. He knew it wouldn't take long. How could anyone resist? This planet was 99.9% ar$eholes and idiots but he knew there were a few of his own kind down here. He'd heard the rumours. The threats from up high. 'Piss him off' they'd warn 'and he'll send you to earth' as if it was some sort of bedtime story told to naught children.

"Well no, WE know we're not forgiving. But the suckers down here don't know squat. I mean, some of them still f*cking pray to Him as if he can do a damn thing about their pathetic problems. 'Oh God, please help, I can't seem to shift the last few pounds. Oh Holy Jesus, help me find love, everyone keeps swiping left'...or is it right? Which direction is for the fuglies?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Regardless...wait, what was I talking about?"

Nate frowned, deep in concentration. He never listened. It was a flaw. One of many. But light a spark of a flame, it came back to him.

"Nathaniel. Mmhmm. Yes, I know, this body is a little different from up there. It feels awfully young. Is it? I haven't found a mirror yet."

"Oooooh...oh oh oh" he chuckles as his body thumps against the wall. She's strong for such a little thing. Feisty too. Thank f*ck. Nate looks down at her slender fingers as they grip the fabric of his t-shirt. When he'd 'landed' on earth, he'd been buck naked. He'd had to mug some freak for his clothing and as a result, he was wearing some ridiculous band t-shirt. Whatever a Slipnot was, he wasn't a fan. The design was ridiculous and the fit all wrong. But hell, he'd only been on land for a few hours so it wasn't sooooo bad. Besides, he'd found this plunky thing. And from the looks of it, she was more than met the eye.

"Not Gabriel then." he chuckled as she let him go. Brushing off his shirt out of principle, he pulled up at the belt of his jeans. The now-naked kid had been a few sizes bigger and with every movement, the jeans threatened to slip over his waist to the ground.

"Everyone is so f*cking cliquey up there and what, you're not the same? Some lone wolf unable to give one of your own the time of day? Jeeeeez, and they say our kind are all forgiving."

Everything is said with a smile, as if he'd telling some long-winded joke thats punchline is causing him to chuckle before he's even reached it.

"Just gonna tell me to f*ck off and let me fend for myself? So much for the welcome party! I know this place is a f*cking punishment but I assumed someone would be able to help a brother out. What's it The Son always says? Do unto others how something yourself...something...be nice? I never f*cking listened."

"Oh hun, c'mon. We both know that nobody chooses to come down here on their own merit. Earth is a f*cking sh!t show. If you're down here, you must have p!ssed someone off. So tell me...was it Gabriel? Mine was Gabriel, that jerk. I bet it was Gabriel."

Between her heart wrenched sobs and the shriek, it was hard for her to even remotely try to connect them to words. Finally she does, and tries to slow her breath. Instead she blubbers onward to try to talk to Camille on the other line.

But Camille is yelling at her. So, this causes her to dive deeper into her hysteria. It's no fault of the her angelic friend. She drops the phone and manages between the musical chords of wailing to finally form one sentence.

"I'm obviously up to no good." He grins, bloody hands thrown into the air in exclamation. The smile he bears at her entrance is written all over his expression, to the goofy, lopsided grin, and gleaming gray eyes. "You asked for a heart, so.."

He lifts up the decorated jar, beaming with absolute pride in his accomplishment. "What do you think?" His clothes are practically a smock of the same blood - he'd budgeted no time for cleaning himself up. Still he is standing before her, promising a night of romance.

"I can go wash up, if you want." He offers earnestly, foot sheepishly scuffing the floor. "I was just trying to be romantic. Success?"

Atticus has spent all day making the trailer as romantic as possible. It may have once been a man's space, but since Camille had come into his life, her influence has spread like weeds through a garden. The colors of the carpets match the drapes (get your mind out of the gutter), and the bedding all seemed to come from the same set. After cleaning up the array of strange odds and ends he kept cluttering every possible surface, the real work began.

He spent all day hunting the perfect victim - ensuring they would be the perfect candidate. Atticus is normally above violence, but not for this gift. And when all is said and done - her corpse is without a heart, and Atticus how has a present fit for his bride. He plucks it in a jar of embalming fluids - going so far as to decorate the container with tissue paper and hearts.

Every surface is now covered in candles - two champagne flutes accompanied by a bottle of sparkling cider (because bean), and he hasn't bothered to wash the blood from his body. He knows, at the end of the day, Camille likes a little bit of chaos with her romance. And there is nothing more romantic than a heart.

The blood wiped across her face as she put the receiver of the phone to her lips. It caused her to gag openly and hyperventilate. She could barely hold onto the phone itself, as the beast inside her leisured in the back of her mind. Tears started to cascade down her cheeks. Lloyd was unreachable. There's only one person that could answer her call. Camille.

Trembling hands clutched the phone as she listens to the ringing. She's trying to calm herself down by the Lamaze breathing exercises she learned. If Camille were to answer on the other line she would only hear high pitch shrieking.

His hair was getting too long, he realised as yet another few strands fell across his face. With an upward puff of breath, he attempted, and failed, to send them back home. Both hands were full and finally, with a shrug, he gave up and let the auburn locks fall where they pleased.

Finally he saw her. The little angelic glow worm. She was hard to miss, even when her glow was but a flicker, a warmth and nothing more.

Approaching her, and without a word, he swung the two sacks from over his shoulders to let them thumb with a squish at her feet. Brown, hessian, and thoroughly bloodstained, each back contained a ridiculous amount of human toes.

Atticus sits in his beanbag chair, mess of yarn strewn out all around him as he attempts to knit. He's no talent for it, but damnit, he's trying. When Camille's familiar footsteps and voice reach his ears, Atticus is already flustered, tangling himself further in the web of yarn. "Hey, babe! In here!" He replies, trying to stand.

His smile falters at the sight of blood, gray eyes wide with panic. "Did you murder someone?!" He trips over the yarn, just a total mess before he disentangles himself. The knitting needles fall to the ground with a 'clang'. "Where's the body? I'll bury it." Because he's a good husband.

-scoops up-
-cradles like a baby-
"If there's two beans, we'll each take one. Divide and conquer, baby. We GOT dis. Look at us? We're attractive, intelligent and hard-working. We have nothing to worry about!"

Elis sighs to her words, dampening his lips as c*cks his head to study her face. She glowed. She always glowed. And he wondered for a moment what that must be like, to be such a beacon to all those who walk the slightly less mortal side of life. Elis, in comparison, passed for a mortal by default. Nothing about him screamed anything other than human. He walked in the sun, he ate, he had a heartbeat, he broke a sweat. Those who knew of his condition knew only because he told them, and even then he never told the full story, not of his history, nor of his involvement in, well, all of this.

Tightening his grip about the blade, he looked down to his hand and then past it to his own feet. Could he not simply give her his own? They’d grow back after all. But how much did she know about him? Lopping off each pinky would definitely give himself away and he didn’t trust Camille in the slightest, most definitely not with his secrets.

Gritting his teeth, Elis leaned in until their noses were near touching. He met her eyes, narrowing them as he spoke slowly. “I’ll give you what you want”, he said. “But next time you decide you need this done, you find some other way of calling home, alright?”

Elis faced somewhat of a moral dilemma...ish. Well, not exactly a moral dilemma. I mean, he hardly knew the angel. And why did he care whether or not she could call home, so to speak? He didn't. Not at all. But one way or another, it was clear she'd be doing this, regardless of whether Elis helped or not. And there was a mad glint in her eye that suggested her way would be a lot more bloody and, well, less considerate, than if, say, Elis did it.

He looked back down to the whimpering mess of man on the floor and frowned. Aside from the recent wars, Elis hadn't killed anyone in a few hundred years. And in truth, he wasn't sure he'd killed anyone in the wars. He'd always aimed to maim, not murder, and hoped the act was enough to get the foe sent home and out of the war. He didn't like killing people - in part because it made him feel no different from Vlad and the others. And also because the scent of fresh blood still hit him, even now, even after all these thousands of years.

could he guarantee that Camille would allow the man to live beyond this point? No. And that somewhat made up his mind for him. With an 'ugh', he reached for his Swiss and sighed. "How many?"

Elis took the few steps forward needed to reach the angel, fitting himself in between the body on the floor and the blade in her hand.

"You need his toes for that?", he exclaimed, eyebrows raised and he let out somewhat of a chuckle. "Jesus Christ, woman. Now I think I've seen it all. You want toes? Fine. But can't you just, y'know, lop them off a corpse?"

'Dear Diary. Camille physically assaulted me today. I know I should tell someone but I'm feeling really self-conscious right now and I just...do you ever just want people to like you so much that you're willing to let them...oh, I dunno, diary. I just want her to be my friend. I want all of them to be my friends. I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...'

"I know! It's all my fault!"
-wraps limbs around monster-
-tender lil smooch-
"How about we stop thinking about the monster bean for a little while, okay? I'll give you a massage, and MAYBE even tuck you into a burrito blanket tonight."

The excitement, however brief, slips away like steam from a boiling pot. There's a clear disappointment to his body language when she pulls away, and Atticus, for his part, still reaches to pull her back - but she's just out of reach by the time he reacts. "Camille, come on now." He hushes, standing up in turn. Her reaction leaves him feeling helpless, and wholly responsible for her panic, for her unrest, for all of this.

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what you want me to say to fix this, baby." His head hangs, hands gripping his waist as he awaits some sort of verbal lashing. It's in his nature to retreat at the first sign of trouble, or, in this case, to resign to defeat, and allow the blame to fall onto his shoulders. When she grabs her coat, he doesn't react right away. He watches her hand turn the knob, and finally, he looks up and pipes up.

"Need some air, or need some space from me?" He asks with a degree of hurt in his voice, feet carrying him over to her, even if she pulls away. "If I had the magic words to fix this, you know I'd offer them. The last thing I want is for you to be upset, Camille. But I'm here, trying to understand it, just like you. But we can... We can make it work. Okay?"

His hands find her wrist, the other one attempting to gently pry the coat from her fist. "I'm freaking out too. The last thing I expected..." He squints, a terse breath leaving his lips. "We're already married, we have the means... We can handle this. So what if we ruin the kid? There are plenty of serial killers out there. Who knows if it's nature or nurture, right? We'll be fine. You and me? We'll be fine."

Without hesitation, he leans in to press an earnest kiss to her lips. "I love you. That's never going to change. Not even when you get fat, and you don't love me anymore. Scout's Honor, babe."

Her urgency leaves him unsettled, fumbled words doing nothing to ease his mind from worry. Nevertheless, he holds Camille against his body, hushed words of comfort slipping through heavy breaths as he keys into her tone, the message unfolding becoming clearer and clearer. Until, his breath hitches, and, since he isn't a student man, he makes the clear assumption. His mind is reeling with revelation that she is attempting to make abundantly clear to him.

He sputters, nothing coherent parting from his lips. Gray eyes are wide with shock, though, if he's being honest... There's absolute cause and reason to be able to make such an assumption. He just doesn't want to admit it to himself, or to her. "Oh... 'Kay." He replied slowly, still struggling to find sound in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, desperate to organize his thoughts. To say the right thing. To make her feel safe, comforted, and loved. In such a pivotal moment, words mean so much more.

"It only matters what you want. My feelings, what I believe... They don't matter, understand? It's about you, right now. Your body." His words are achingly sincere, each word emphasized. He draws back as he speaks, wanting that to be clear as his gaze tracks hers. "And don't think of retorting with 'of course it does', sugar. Because I will happily, willingly, and lovingly support you, regardless of what you choose. Understand?" His intonation takes on the Southern twang it often does when he scolds, but there's a bright, enigmatic smile consuming his face.

Excitement, pure and unadulterated. Fear of the unknown, of course. But, if he's followed her correctly, and hasn't just made an utter fool of himself... He knows if Camille is there, nothing can be THAT bad.

Atticus brow creases in worry as he climbs up onto the bed, taking both of her hands and pulling them into his hold. He clears his throat, eyes half-lidded as he scruntinizes her appearance. She doesn't seem ill, which only increases the worry that swells in his otherwise hollow feeling chest. Frankly, the idea of Camille feeling at all unwell leaves Atticus feeling nauseous, as if his subconscious sympathizes with her current position.

His hands peel back from hers, instead nicely to neatly tuck wayward strands of hair behind her ears, lips pressing a reassuring kiss against her cold-feeling forehead. "You know you can tell me anything, Camille." He assures with complete sincerity. He takes the time to pull her up against his chest, providing the sort of physical contact and comfort he senses she needs. And, in complete honesty, he relishes in the feeling as well.

"Is it something serious?" He attempts a serious tone, still tempered with a smooth affection that never seems to fade when addressing her. "You have my name, which means you'll always have me. Whatever it is, just tell me. I'm all ears."

Atticus can't place the root of his unrest. And when he can't, he follows his mother's advice, and assumes he's only hungry. He takes his walk, wandering along the lines his phone's GPS dictates until he reaches the nearest Golden Arches. The trip is clearly more for Camille than himself, as he graciously ensures his wife will receive a box of 20 McNuggets, all the sauces included. After eating a cheeseburger, the man realizes that, perhaps he doesn't know why he's upset, because he isn't upset at all.

It's a ridiculous realization, but the man has never been anything short of that. With a casual whistle, he know makes his way down the hall, greasy paper McDonalds bag gripped in a fist. He falls silent, however, after ascending the final staircase that leads to the room he and Camille share. He isn't sure if she'll be sleeping, so he pushes the door open gingerly, kicking his shoes off in the process.

"Hey, honey." He immediately exudes a warmth with her presence in such proximity, not having yet examined her concerning body language yet. "I got you a snack, with all of the fixin's." Placing the bag on the counter, he slides over in stocking feet to almost tackle her over. Instead, he falters and stops short at the sheer sight of her concern, flopping onto his behind with a grunt. "What's wrong, Cam? Is it me? I didn't meant to be rude earlier." He crawls up into his knees, pressing against the edge of the bed as he peers up at her, much like a dog begging for a treat.

-soft laugh-
How charming, you are. What a lucky husband you have, that has to put up with this for nine months. Ohemgee. He's going to kill himself!
-prances off, returns with stick-
I always have like a dozen handy. Don't really need them anymore. They were super useful when Jameson and I were doing the nasty.

He's a loser, but I think he may genuinely love you. Like Jameson, because he became an undead piece of ass cancer.
-pats-
Why not just tell him? Worse thing that happens is I have to raise your sh*tty little sh*t baby.

-more laughter-
I was trying to take the subtle, gentle approach. But, you don't understand metaphors. So.
-squints-
I think you should go pee on a stick. I mean...would you just take a pregnancy test?! I can't tell if you're crazy or not.

"I don't know what I want! That's the honest truth."
-poutiest of pouts-
"It doesn't matter in the least, what I want, darlin'. It is, at the end of the day, YOUR body. So let's just let it go!"
-clings to-
"You're not allowed to leave me, woman!"

Wifebae
But you were married to a woman, weren't you? I get it. You're Atticus-sexual. ;] A man's job is at the grill, thank you. And I'll teach you momma's recipe for sweet tea. You don't have to do anything but put your feet up and look as cute as you always do. 😘

Wifebae
😍 We can change that, if you want. My work-wives want to go out. And by go out, I mean camp on the Charleston property. I'm going to make them help me build the house. Lesbians are good for that, right? You're a former lesbian. Do you have any insight?

"A long six months?" Atticus pauses, a small smirk growing on his lips. "It's my job to remedy that, isn't it?" After sending an affirming glance that Logan is indeed sleeping, he leans down, scooping Camille up under her knees. "A lap dance WAS promised, after all." Hugging his wife close to his chest, Atticus begins to happily trot away.

Of course Atticus can sympathize with the many demands of leadership. Camille's willingness to put herself at risk in the service of others is one of her many attributes he admires immensely. "Foolish question, on my part. I just worry that since he was a friend... You might extend hesitation." The same way that Camille refused to kill him, when perhaps letting zombie Atticus die would have been a better option than giving up her wings. At least, it would have served her better.

He stoops, bristly cheek pressed against hers as he places an affectionate kiss against her soft skin. His arms take on a more cradling pose, enveloping her at the waist. "I wasn't aware you and Elouise had such a history." In truth, he had hoped the connection wasn't so severely strong. But, his wife is her own person.

"If you trust her, then I will learn to. You KNOW I trust you." He offers a small grin then, pulling back far enough to show it before he gives her the cheesiest of eskimo kisses. "How long about did all of this happen? Jameson disappearing?"

"Sounds familiar..." He quips, observing with a quiet admiration the way Camille goes about ensuring the comfort of Logan. "So, he's not dead. But, not NOT dead." His brow stoops, an odd feeling growing like a weed in the pit of his stomach. "Loose cannon, huh?" He knows it should have already been entirely obvious, in her sudden appearance in Bloemfontein, how she seemingly abandoned her child with a total stranger...

He of course, is in no way assured of her, especially around Camille. However, he trusts in Camille's judgment implicitly. "Is this Jameson a threat to you?" He hopes the question does not come off as alarmed as he feels, but his care for his wife is genuine. "You've known her for awhile, I assume. But I hope her presence isn't going to bring untoward attention onto your institute. I don't want to have to kill anybody."

"One day, you're actually going to tell me about Jameson and Elouise, aren't you? Given the fact I'm ensuring the survival of their child while you eat your feelings... I deserve some facts!" Atticus supplants his words with a tender kiss, a bit of mischief in his expression. "Should I bribe you with food?"

Atticus pauses, a hint of true concern glimmering in gray eyes that normally brood with deep and intense thought. "I don't think you'd break him. Not that you'll ever have to worry about that. It's just you, me, and our menagerie. Promise." For emphasis, his pointer finger crosses his heart in either direction. "I'm far too territorial to share you with a child for more than just this one, temporary occurrence."

Atticus shuffles into the kitchen, immediately going for a cup of coffee, because he KNOWS he'll need the energy. He leans against the counter casually, sipping at the lukewarm java while his wife looks soooo lost with Logan. It's quite amusing for him. "I'm sorry to hear. If he was in your leadership, then I assume he was a friend?" He bites back any further remarks, finally making his way around to prepping for his wife's snack of choice. "... Not skinny." He mumbles, a side-ways brooding stare sent in her direction before he continues in the many machinations of his cooking routine.

"Is that why she's so..." What? Insane? Outrageous? Baffling? "I guess I'd be sort of crazy if you knocked me up and died. Which you're not permitted to do, thaaaank you." Once the water is set to boil, Atticus meanders back towards Camille, lips perching a loving kiss against her forehead. "He can't really tell the difference between you and Elouise, can he? Doesn't he recognize that you're just waaaaay sexier?" Ever the hopelessly horrible schmoozer, Atticus.

"Jameson? Someone willingly had a baby with Elouise Orlav?" Not that Atticus understands the drive to procreate, under any circumstance. It's a natural stall on one's ambitions and career. And for Atticus, there was only one person who could ever stand a chance at pulling his attention away from his work, and she was standing next to him.

"I'll make you some mac n' cheese, for being soooo brave, and maybe he'll fall asleep." He then pauses. "Who's Jameson, and why can't HE watch his own damn child?"

"Babies drink milk. SPECIAL milk. Not the stuff I use for cereal. Theirs is like... Special. Boob milk." He blinks, thoroughly distressed he chose the verbatim 'boob milk'. It's her fault for marrying such an awkward, social inept man. "I've got this. I've fought cultists, slain dragons... This is kid stuff! Oh. Literally."

He is absolutely overselling his ability to care for this baby, but, he always hopes to be a partner his wife can rely on in situations just like this. If she's going to have to live outside of her comfort zone, he's going to build a damn house and move in with her. "Diapers? Psh. No big deal. Done it thousands of times!" He conducts a very casual, nonchalant hand-wave, but in reality, the man is screwed. She just doesn't need to know that QUITE yet.

Wifebae
I can't very well strip in front of your friends. You'll kill them all, and that'd be a very sad bachelorette party. So, I've decided to give you a private show tonight. Get some dollar bills out.

Elouise is minding her own sh*t. Eating cheetos. The usual. And then a tiny screaming midget disrupts her f*cking day. "CAMILLE. OH MY GOD." Her hair is being pulled, and she's 99% sure the angel is intent on killing her.

"You're not supposed to be this mad! You got laid! I heard! We all heard!" ...probably shouldn't have said that. "I mean...I'm sorry I kissed your husband! But I assure you, my lips are clean!"

Camille
I just want to know what sized duster I should buy you to remove the cobwebs from your dusty old vajeen. ;)
I don't know where the f*ck Jameson is, and I didn't even KNOW my wife. So smd.
Still definitely gonna fondle your boyfrand. :)

Lucius was just strolling along minding his own business until he saw a familiar face he had met a couple of months back in his city. He had seen her every so often throughout his time in the underworld but never really had the time to strike an actual conversation until now. The warlock approached her with a charming smile and a friendly demeanor, "Heya! Do you remember me? Long time to see." He asked her never revealing the real intention behind the sudden approach.

As if Atticus Hammond isn't already a goner with this woman, she brings home a present. And not just any present. THE present. It's the be-all and the end-all of presents. He visibly swoons, stormy eyes wide and totally enamored with her. "You're craftier than I realized, Cam-Cam." He toys with the bone gently in his hand, momentarily speechless as the magnitude of the moment reaches him.

He isn't the feelsies type, but Camille brings something out in him. A child-like, lovey dovey, doodle in your notebook kinda vibe. And he won't lie, he doesn't mind one bit. He even kinda likes it. "Is this where my money went, little lady?" He raises a brow, a smirk teasing his lips. "See, this makes any future gift attempt on my part lame. I mean... You brought home a cat dinosaur!" He swoops in before he's even really finished speaking, lips finding hers in a tender display of gratitude. "I can make a spell circle if you want to raise our little friend tonight. We'll just need a sacrifice."

Atticus is minding his own business, organizing his rock collection when the door opens and closes. A soft, heartfelt smile touches his lips, as he knows just who the visitor is. He hardly has time to drop his rock hammer before he is being tugged into an unforgiving kiss, his own arms involuntarily wrapping around her waist. He feels a bit foolish, gray eyes still wide with shock even after she pulls away. His hands stay firmly affixed to her hips, forehead pressing to hers as his eyes avert to the object in her hand. "A bone?" He pulls back some, teeth flashing as a chuckle slips loose.

"I'm afraid I'll have to a bit of time researching. Give me a hint?" His tone lilts, ensuring his southern twang melts her like butter. "Please?" It's the best tool in his arsenal, at present. Because otherwise, she has totally disarmed him.

Text To: GunslingerYou know the drawl comes natural. I'll just exaggerate a little more. ;] As for the tune... I will school Mary Had a Little Lamb on this bad boy, and then I'm taking my groupie for some impromptu burgers.

Text To: Fav GalDeal. I can't believe you're forcing me to relive trauma. I was showering in the locker room at the gym and someone stole my clothes and left a dress. Big, poofy, green with white polka dots. This was only two weeks ago.

Text To: Best WifeOh, no, no. Not even close to a doctor. I was really looking to get their belongings [i.e. grimoire] and the easiest thing to do was dress up like a mortician. And then you know what happens.
[part 2/2]You threatened a government official? That's hot. And you say you're not as cool as me! Ever play ping-pong with a warlock's eye? They glow in the dark!

Text To: Best WifeEvery time you learn something new about me, you like me a little bit more. I can work well with these odds on my side. So...
Did I ever tell you about the time I broke into a morgue to steal a witch's corpse and ended up having to perform the autopsy myself? Lots of intestines everywhere. 😍

Text To: Cam-CamThat's very fair. You know I loathe socialization. Especially with rude people. I'll be home soon with the funfetti and PBR. You can make a list of questions, and I'll answer them all. Or avoid them with kisses. Whichever.

Text To: CamilleWere you married to a woman? Is this a real marriage? Your daughter said a lot of things. She knows WAY too much about your sex life. Or lack thereof. Intentional lack thereof? I'm confused.

Text To: Honey Bae BaeFunfetti for my bae. PBR too? Are we playing Mario Kart? I'll pick up some chapstick too. 'Cause after last night's mack-attack, you might need it. Also what was that about my trailer?! It's probably just a maimed witch or something.

Text To: Honey Boo BooWhat kind of cake? Why do I have to bring a razor? Do I have to shave? Boo. Fine. ... Must be all the extra testosterone.
To be clear, over the shirt action meant snuggles. But it's good to know I'm cute. ;]

She couldn't help but notice an unfamiliar face around -- and not to mention he seemed very comfortable around the sanctuary for being so fresh. Though, most perplexing, he seemed most comfortable around Camille. Julliet heard words tossed around the last few days, but she didn't want to assume anything. In passing, Julliet caught sight of her fellow blondie and plead to stop her for a moment.

"I believe congratulations are in order?" It didn't sound like the most confident statement she'd ever made. She couldn't judge what the relationship was at this point, but the foundational bond was evident. "So, congratulations!" She squealed as she went in for a quick, but genuine, hug with Camille.

"No. I don't need a lackey to do my dirty work," she hisses quietly, glaring up at the woman that embodies everything a festering turd should. Plucky. Bird-like. Graceful. Mackenzie cannot stand her. She drops her voice, tone becoming much more frank. "Do not disappoint me, Cam. It's one thing to f-ck with me. It is entirely another to f-ck with one of mine."

"Han. F-cking. SOLO." Mackenzie corrects the woman through gritted teeth, reaching upward to wrap a bruising grip around the woman's wrists. "I will f-ck you up, Tweety. If he tells me you so much as look at him funny, your ass will be lit up brighter than a goddamn Catholic alter."

"HEY!" The familiar angry brogue yells out, hoarse with irritation. Soon, the tiny terror known as Mackenzie is in full view. "You married my guy?! Seriously? You married the Daniel to my goddamn Miyagi!? First, you f-ck up my life with Han Solo. Now this?!"

Camille
I want answers. His b*tch of a sister has blocked me out. She won't talk to me, and I'm sure has his phone, too. I'm impatient, Camille. If you have information, I think it's in everyone's best interest I have it.

Noura is desperate, not scared. There is a difference. Forced to leave the Order for the safety of her own skin after a choice encounter, she found herself on the sh-t end of the stick and doing her very best to stay alive despite her crazed opponent. She's outmatched. For now. Then again, considering the traitorous, disgusting brood of lapdogs her sister-in-law keeps - who knows.

She sets out to find one person. An entity, really. She'd read about the woman, and heard of her numerous times. Noura had even been lucky enough to see a picture. Luckily, she is easy to find. Despite her brazen, b-tchy self, Nou approaches timidly with worry written on her face. "Camille...? I'm Noura. Orlav. Jameson's sister. I need your help."

You're smart for never getting married. I waited so long, I'm not sure why I gave in now. Does E. Ever talk to you about people? Or what's going on? We have all of these new members, and most of them are great, but I'm not sure if I trust them, or her. You're not really peopley so I don't know if you'd understand. But you know when you just think that something is wrong? Yeah, I've got that gut feeling. I suppose I could talk to Noura, but you know how she feels about Elouise. I'm thinking about making the trip to Bloemfontein for a few days. I'll chalk it up to business. You got time?

~+ Something touched her. Ella released a high pitch shriek at the invasion of privacy. Heart thumping rhythmically inside her chest. Oh god. What if it was Jameson? Both her hands moved to cover her face in embarrassment, and the tomato tone that now occupied her entire face. Two fingers carefully move apart as she looked on the person who excavated her shrill cry. A sharp breath of relief seeing it was Camille and not her realm crush.+~

Lucius finds her some time a few days later with a locator spell, "Heya stranger whose name keeps escaping me. So by any chance... Do you have more of those gummy bears?" He smiled brightly at the blond angel. "Also whats your name?"

*sheeps* Thank you. It took long enough right? Not sure what to do now actually. *looks to the purple glowy clothing she's been put it* Is it really purple though? It's the oddest color.*nudges* You're kind of pretty...you know that right? I bet this color would look better on you. *nods sagely*

Lucius looked up at the familiar voice he hasn't heard in a couple of days. It was the 'stare at you from away' lady actually approuching him this time. "Lucius.. But yes you could say I am the magic fingers guy.." He chuckled a bit amused at the way she knew him for all the while staring back at her own clear eyes. She seemed soo.. bubbly. It was cute, Ill give you that much.

Did she robbed me? Sh!t, she was quick... He suddenly felt something on his pocket and a gummy in his own hand then listened to her words in french. Thank god for the foreign exchange programs in schools otherwise he wouldn't understand jacksh*t of what she was saying. He was rusty himself, ''Pourquoi donc.... chéri?" [Why is that.... Beloved?]

A large, beefy looking man approached Camille Rameau's residence. He double checked the address given by Summer, copied off their marriage license. He'd never seen someone have to check official documents to see where their spouse lived, but who was he to judge! He was just a bouncer at a strip club, earning cash on the side running very strange errands for the dancers. Well, one dancer anyway.

Carl rapped his weathered, ham sized fists on the door as he placed the package on the step. He didn’t bother waiting for Summer’s new missus to answer the door. She might not anyway, seeing the sizeable strange man at her door. On the flip side, Carl knew of some...proclivities among those in the realm. No telling what Mrs. Rameau might decide to do with a stranger. The very thought had him hastening his step toward his large SUV.

On the stoop, a professionally wrap gift sits waiting. Inside, the owner will find a handcrafted keepsake box, small enough to be held by two hands but big enough to contain: a few bags of herb grown in Summer’s attic, an assortment of other intoxicants of varying types, and the pièce de résistance- a thick knuckle ring with the skull of a goat on the top. The thickness was not due to the skull design, but because when pressure was applied to the top, a very thin, fatally sharp blade extended from the goat’s mouth. The finger knife was an odd choice for a wedding gift. But Summer wasn’t like other girls.

Affixed to the box was a handwritten note:

To my bride, whom I've never actually met before stumbling into the cathedral to take your hand in unholy wedded bliss.

I would have delivered this myself but there was an emergency at work. Cinnamon called in sick so there was an opening. Feel free to stop by The Windmill anytime- free lap dances for spouses of dancers. If that doesn't flip your pancake, then free drinks at the bar should. If that doesn't either, well...we should probably talk annulment. I kid! I kid!

In the box you’ll find some goodies I’ve curated especially for you. I hope you enjoy them. I didn’t include any brownies because those aren’t actual my specialty. My specialty is cookies. I’ll give you those fresh.
The finger blade’s goat skull design was chosen with care. Lore says the goat represents New Endeavors, Loyalty, and most importantly- Independence. All very appropriate for our style of unholy union, I think. I do hope you enjoy it. I trust you’ll put it to good use.

*momentary stink eye*
*forgets at the mention of new bottles*
Already restocked, but I mean..I won't say no to more. Who the hell would say no to more booze?*slightly disturbed by the thought of someone saying no to more booze*
*might have a slight problem*
To the booze!

*stands absolutely still**knows T-Rex hunts by movement...saw Jurassic Park**becomes a statue**contemplates the meaning of life**watches Camille run off with a bag of...wheat?*wtf moment**decides to go on a diet*

*take Camille's hand gently in her own**turns it upside down over her awaiting palm**smiles**pops the contents of her hand into her mouth**chews...for a long time**swallows* Delicious!*offers Camille a listerine strip* They'll do more than freshen your breath. *grins deviously...nods to the unicorn* Mr. Sparkles agrees.

*slight flinch*
When the hell did you get so strong?*stares, untrusting...weird things were happening*
Oh, yeah. Things are greaaat. Someone replaced all my alcohol with...Club Soda.*stares some more* You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Or the glitter trail?

*Eyes go wide as saucers, like a kid at Christmas*
"Thank you!"
*greedily takes a handful and shoves them all in her mouth at once*
*chews the generous wad of gummies until it is a multicolored sticky goo in her mouth.*
"Let's watch the walls melt!"

You know what I want to know, when did we become part of the Brady Bunch? Does that make Caitlyn, Carol? I can't live somewhere without my goddamn booze, Cam. That was part of the arrangement. I work for you, you booze me.

The devilish smile lingers on her lips as she allows her arm to intertwine with that of her lovely and crazed as she was, friend. "Darling you know the words to my heart, truly..." Her amused and whimsical chuckle rolled off the tongue easily. "A celebration sound superb! And of course the more trouble the better. It has been far too long indeed."

To: Little Bird
Text: Hit me up when you're in London next. I owe you a drink for all the ones you've let me have... ;) (That's a winky face just in case you didn't know. I think. I'm not actually sure myself. Just imagine me winking at you.)

Well, damn.
*snickers*Never hurts to be told again!
*gives a once over*Y'know... we should consider dressing as twins for Halloween this year. Freak some people out...
*grins childishly while twirling a blonde strand*

*Turns around to see his crew mate and smiles* "Oh, Hey Camille..." *He cuts short what he was saying when she mentioned his picture being plastered everywhere.* "I didn't do anything, I'm not sure..." *Once again she cuts him off to point out sirens in the distance, at which point he turns on his heel and starts to run.* "You didn't see me, ok? Talk later..."

*blinks**pats shoulder*I...I've never seen them move like that. Maybe they thought you were there to give them a bath? They like their little leaves rubbed clean.*may have spoiled the trees* C'mon, let's get you all cleaned up. I have a huge copper tub...I'll figure out what removes um...*waves hand around Camille* Alla that.

Love tackles are the best! Next to love taps! I'm not back for good my lovely love, but I'll be back for good sometime soon. I just had to come spread the citrus rings around the realm. Hmm is there such a think as love kicks?

*gets tackled*AHHH okay! okay! THE LOVE IS IN THE AIIIIR TOOONIGHT *sings while on the ground from tackle*Have you been working on your tackling? Do you love tackle often? You should love tackle everyone and force feed them orange juice!

*sinks to the ground**slips her lap beneath Camille's head to cradle it**pets* No no...you've just eaten too much meat.*takes a long pull from the jar of moonshine she's 'found'* Everyone knows Mexican food is best to eat after drinking...and drinking more alcohol relieves 'hangovers'.

The concern was appreciated and made Jacob feel he made the right choice in accepting Livia's offer to become a part of their crew. "I've got a fair hand with a needle and thread and a good supply of antibiotics stashed away. I think it'll stay attached this time."

Still grinning he pointed to his bandaged thigh, "Yea, double tapped me right in the leg, although I did stab her so I probably deserved it..." Taking a moment to think about what he just said he realized just how absurd it sounded. "It was certainly the most unusual way I've met someone while walking the streets." He chuckled again before reaching into a pocket and pulling out two pain pills and swallowed them dry.

He couldn't help but laugh again, eliciting a small wince as his leg throbbed at the motion. "Brave is one word for it, I might lean towards 'stupid' though. I certainly didn't expect her to shoot me. I managed to come out on top in the end, even if it was kind of a cheap shot...hopefully she doesn't hold a grudge..." His last words were completely honest, he really didn't want to have that woman as an enemy.

Jacob laughed at the comment before saying, "Something like that...Our illustrious leader gave me a thorough hazing before I made it in. Things got a bit carried away but I'll heal." He recounted the fight in his head for a moment before adding, "She really doesn't pull her punches."

Sore and still visibly limping after the encounter with his new leader Jacob turned to face his new crewmate with a smile. "Nice to meet you Camille, I'm Jacob." Taking the offered hand he shook it briskly. "The pleasure is all mine."

Drawers? Did she keep tequila in her undergarments? Livia extended her hand to accept the tiny bottles and flowers. Seriously, Camille must have been heaven sent. Ahem. With a salute of her other hand, Livia started to shove the small bottles into her pockets until, well, she looked like a squirrel saving up for the winter. High? Totally.

"Dekuji Milacku." She mumbled past the cigarette that now dangled from lacerated pout. "I'm sure my friend will enjoy these greatly."

Total lie. Jackson wasn't getting ANY of these. Maybe one. Then it wouldn't be a lie right? Just a half truth? Something like that.

She's propped up against the wall, half asleep and smoking a cigarette. A faint clinking heard as Camille wanders by, cerulean pools drift to study the trail of tequila that slips from the basket Camille carried. She's like a fvcking Patron rainbow.

"Milacku, do you have a few to spare for my friend Jacks?" Not that she was really asking for Jackson, he was just her cover."I promised him tequila but I'm too tired to run to the store. "

Jackson had been a bit of a recluse as of late, but decided to get back out there with the thought of bugging a new member.

"You know...If you wanted to get closer to me, all you had to do was come see me. You didn't have to go through the trouble of getting into the same house as me. Just like you didn't have to use the pretence of stealing my money to feel me up. I understand your infatuation with me and there's nothing to me ashamed of."

*blinks and reaches a hand to pat reassuringly* Oh! Well yes if you think it's justified. Maybe when he gets back, you can force him to have a big,big,big formal wedding, and you can marry us properly. *grins*